


Vices and Kisses

by MathConcepts



Series: BackChannels [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And pouts because he's not doing it, F/M, Hastur is that person who wants to do the thing but won't admit to it, Humorus remunerations, Ligur is a smooth old devil, M/M, Michael has vaugely Littlefinger like qualities, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Which is to say that Michael is one tricky angel who knows what she's doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 23:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20105230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathConcepts/pseuds/MathConcepts
Summary: In the summer heat, two play, and one finally joins.





	Vices and Kisses

Most human practices were inane, and oftentimes sinful. Most angels looked down upon them as a judgemental elder would look upon the social idiosyncrasies of a teenaged child. Michael was no exception.  
  
But every living creature, angel included, had their vices, or at least their preferences. Once again, Michael was no exception. Her vices or preferences, however, were a touch more physical than the want for, say, a tailored suit.

* * *

  
  
The midday sun was hot, and it beat down on the country hillside, offering no quarter to the unprotected land beneath it. The only spot for miles around that offered any shelter from the sun was the great old oak that stood atop the hill.  
  
It may be worth mentioning that Michael disliked the heat. Temperature was a nonentity in Heaven, but when on Earth, it was something one had to constantly contend with. That is to say, a nice autumn day could be added to the list of Michael's preferences.   
  
She had taken shelter under the oak, and had shed her jacket. The bark of the oak was rough, and her shirt caught against it. It would pull thread out of the delicate fabric, Michael knew, but it was nothing that could not be fixed with a flick of her fingers. It was inconsequential. What was of consequence however, and in more ways in one, was the being currently holding her against the tree.  
  
Ligur's hand was at her waist, the other settled against the curve of her neck, and his lips were moving over the pane of her jaw. Michael's arms were draped loosely around his neck - she clutched his collar as he employed his teeth for moment, leaving a pleasant sting behind. Physical contact was something Michael never once instigated, but she welcomed it in her quiet way when it did come.  
  
Ligur would get into a _mood_ sometimes, and Michael would find herself pressed up against the nearest sturdy surface, face to face with a grinning demon. Hastur made himself conspicuously absent during those times, oh, Hastur got his fair share too, but he could never seem to stay around when Ligur decided that Michael was his catch of the day.  
  
Ligur abandoned her jaw and dove into the crook between her neck and shoulder, and Michael's head fell back against the tree. She never made a sound, not out of lack of enjoyment, by nature she was silent. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She made noise, but never with Ligur. It was Hastur who could coax a verbal reaction out of her, when she sufficiently riled his temper.  
  
Ligur had once expressed the suspicion that she purposely roused Hastur's temper, and in turn Michael held the suspicion that Ligur had made it a goal of his to draw a sound out of her. In any case, Michael was getting both sides of what she wanted. Hastur had called her a _tramp_ once, and her response was to inform him that given the activities he had engaged in only a short time prior, it was most likely the other way around. Ligur had laughed so hard that he had nearly discorporated himself.  
  
It was fond memory, Ligur's chuckles and Hastur's comical expression of outrage.  
  
  
Ligur's knee had found its way between her legs, and Michael idly slid a hand along his spine, tracing it through the material of his shirt. He too was devoid of his coat, having shucked the thing into a pile to the side when he advanced on her. Hastur was down at the bottom of the hill, sitting crouched, and most likely sulking. From the hill's vantage point, he looked rather like a frog.   
  
Michael knew that comparison would amuse Ligur, and opened her mouth to tell him, only to shut it as he _bit_, this time in earnest now. Her gold-tipped nails dug into the flesh just above his waist, and his chuckle was muffled against her skin.  
  
It was bold attempt to instigate a noise from her, but she didn't intend to lose the game. At least not so early. In another century or so, perhaps. The bark was becoming a rather prominent sensation against her back, the result of being crowded against the tree with increasing force. Ligur was not pulling his punches anymore. His hand slipped from her neck to her waist, splayed flat on her hip, then moved upward to disappear beneath her shirt. Michael's fingers bunched in his shirt, pulling it untucked. She wondered if Ligur would prefer the grass, the tree was quite a journey in sensations, but was rough on the corpreal form.   
  
She was spared having to trouble him about it when she caught sight of a lurking figure over Ligur's shoulder. Her lips perked up in amusement, Hastur looked petulant. Which was not surprising, the demon had never quite mastered the art of sharing.   
  
"Come to watch?" Michael inquired politely. Hastur could be as jealous as he liked, but when Ligur had her pinned, mouth and hands busy against her skin, well, there was not much Hastur could do, except be jealous, was there?

Hastur usually left them to their own devices, so for him appear was,_ interesting_, to say the least. "I'm joinin'," Hastur responded. His tone was defensive, the tone of someone expecting ridicule. Ligur came up from his exploration to share a look with Michael. Hastur's proclamation was, well, shocking was the word that could be applied, but it was by no means unwelcome. Besides, to pause and consider the implications and consequences of Hastur's so-to-speak change of heart, would have taken too much time entirely than they were willing to spare.  
  
  
In one motion, his hand still under her shirt and one on her arm, Ligur swung Michael around, lowering them both to the ground in front of Hastur. The grass was thick and soft, a luxurious green carpet more than anything, and Michael settled onto it, arranging her long limbs around Ligur. Ligur went right back to where he had left off, and Michael's hands were going back as well, to deal with the barrier of his shirt, when they were intercepted. Too focused on Ligur, Michael had hardly felt when Hastur had knelt in the grass next to them.   
  
Hastur held her wrists, wrinkling the filmy fabric of Michael's sleeves with the force applied. It did not hurt her, it was nothing more than a firm grip. Michael let herself sink back against him, resting the back of her head square against his chest, and looked up at him. He avoided her eyes, and ducked his head down, teeth grazing her uncovered shoulder. Michael had long since loosened and peeled away her collar, leaving quite a bit bare, the heat didn't allow for such frippery.  
  
Ligur had stopped his ministrations, and was now kneeling quite still between Michael's legs, his hands spread over her thighs, looking past her, looking at Hastur with eyes that were cycling down into a burnt orche. There was something faintly calculating in his look, he was sizing up Hastur, Michael knew. After all, Hastur joining them was unexpected, and given Hastur's propensity for histrionics, the situation could quickly go awry.   
  
But Hastur continued on, mouth to skin, carving a path across Michael's shoulder and up her throat. Michael pulled one hand from the cage of his fingers and reached around to clutch at him, grabbing onto the cloth around his neck. She tugged on the scarf, in this heat, it was a true miracle that Hastur had kept it on. But he had always been inclined to be contrary for contrariness sake.   
  
  
Ligur, satisfied, slid his hand up Michael's thighs and back beneath her shirt, titling his head in to meet her lips with his. Hastur chose that moment to scrape his teeth ungently over the still tender mark that Ligur had left earlier, and there it was, a high, shuddering gasp broke from Michael's mouth, one that Ligur eagerly swallowed. Gripping the scarf, Michael yanked it from Hastur's neck, and received a low laugh against her smarting skin. Hastur, unlike Ligur, was _rough_. Finesse was a thing exclusive to only Michael and Ligur, and Hastur neither wanted or needed it.  
  
One of Ligur's hand made an appearance, it went to her hair, fumbling and pulling, until every strand that had been intricately tucked and coiled came falling in tangled waves around Michael's shoulders. Hastur got his free hand into it, yanking Michael's head back and covering her lips with his own, while Ligur did something with his hands that made Michael's body twist...   
  
A shrill peal broke the air, and then another and another. Startled, all three paused their actions, and then Michael scrambled up, breaking free of Ligur and Hastur, and retrieved her jacket, and the ringing phone inside its pocket. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder, listening to the voice coming from it's speaker, using both hands to smooth back her hair. It reshaped itself into its usual elaborate style, every wisp in their correct position. A touch to her throat and her collar had sealed over it, and she shrugged her jacket back on, deftly doing up the buttons. Her phone went back in her pocket as the call ended.  
  
  
Hastur scoffed, grinning wryly at her from where he was still kneeling on the floor. Michael's eyes went to Ligur, before switching back to Hastur. _"Tomorrow."_ Michael said. Ligur was already rising to his feet, the red in his eyes fading down to dull orange. Ligur was patient. Hastur was not. So it surprised Michael, when Hastur simply nodded.   
  
"Tomorrow." he echoed. Michael may have laughed, though no one except her heard it. Acceptance was a strange look on a demon...well, perhaps not so strange after all. Unfurling her wings, Michael raised a hand to her lips, blowing a kiss to the two watching demons in a affected gesture before taking to the air.  
  
_"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow..." _*****

* * *

  
  
  
  
*** **An exert from a Shakespeare quote.


End file.
